Children of the Stars
by Myrenzo-Uchiha
Summary: A great evil is coming. An evil far greater than Voldemort, one that mankind has never known. It is know up to Harry to become a Child of the Stars and lead his brethren to victory against the powerful beings that would threaten the entirety of the World of the Living. PowerfulHarry, H/G, R/Hr. Cannon up to the point where Harry is hit with Avada Kedavra.
1. The Beginning

"Avada Kedavra!"

The evil jet of coursing green light hit Harry square in his chest, bowling him off of his feet. It felt different than he thought it was. It wasn't nearly as bad as It seemed it would be. Honestly, getting hit with a bludger was far more painful. However, it did cause him to black out. The last sound he heard was Hagrid's deep, rumbling voice calling out his name, and the muffled cheers of Voldemort's boot-lickers and lackeys as he fell under a wave of unconsciousness. Only… instead of what he thought would happen, you know the whole eternal blackness, a never-ending slumber, there was white, literally _everywhere_. Everywhere. It damn near blinded him. That's when he noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. Only his vision was fine. It didn't blur or anything. He looked down. He was wearing his clothes when he died. Black traveler's cloak, tattered white t-shirt, ratty blue jeans, and some torn sneakers. Dressed to the nines.

Harry sat up, running his hand through his hair. He had a bit of a headache, and it really seemed to pulsate in the area behind his eyeballs. He got up on his feet, looking around. White. White everything. He looked up. Whoa. Less white. There was a giant glowing constellation, pulsating in a black and purple light. When he looked closely… it appeared to be in the shape of an 'x'. Strange. He continued walking into the white expanse. However, as he walked, the whiteness blended to purple, then to black. Soon he was engulfed in the darkness. His heart rate raised.

"Wait, heart rate?"

He touched a hand to his chest. Yup, his heart was beating. He thought that wasn't supposed to happen to dead people? "If I'm not dead… where am I?"

"Many men with much more genius than you or I have asked the same question, Harry."

Harry spun around on the spot, turning to face the owner of the voice. The darkness instantly turned back to the white expanse and there before him stood Albus Dumbledore. "Professor!" Albus rose a hand, which, Harry realized was the hand that had been marred and blackened. It had now fully healed. "Ah ah ah, Harry. I am no longer your Headmaster. Please, call me Albus." Harry nodded. "Er, sure thing Pro-… Albus." It felt strange coming off of his tongue. He would have to get used to it. "So… Am I…?" Dumbledore merely shook his head, eyes twinkling and his lips curled into a gentle smile. "No, my boy. You are very much alive. More so than I, or him." He motioned to a faraway corner in the darkness, where a small child lay shivering, covered in blood. It was grotesque. "What is-" "Isn't. Not anymore. Maybe at some point it was, but now it isn't. Do you understand, Harry?" "Er… not entirely, sir. But never mind. Why… didn't you tell me everything? For the longest time, I was just wandering around grasping at straws."

Albus closed his eyes and nodded. "A foolish mistake on my part, dear Harry. I had hoped… that I could retain most of my secrets in death. Your young mind had been burdened enough. How you didn't go insane is the greatest form of magic I've seen." Harry smiled. He knew what Albus was thinking. "Love. You were right all along. But… If I'm not dead, then I have to go back. I can't leave everyone to deal with Voldemort alone." Albus nodded. "Yes, Tom is a menace, and to leave him unquestioned would be the greatest mistake we could ever make, but in this realm, time does not pass. Until you return to the world of the living, they remain suspended, unable to move, time unable to march onward. So we should begin. I'll start by telling you something only the Greatest of witches and wizards can learn. Do you know what I mean by Greatest?" Harry nodded. "I think so. Not the most powerful or the most feared. The most loved. The most respected. The bravest. But I don't think-" "That you qualify? You're incredibly modest, Harry. For I have never known a Greater Wizard than you." Harry smiled. "Thank you, sir. So… what are you going to tell me?"

"Harry… what do you know of stars?" The young wizard thought about it for a second. "Only what I learned in Muggle School. That they're giant masses of gas and fire." Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite a muggle way of thinking. I must say I envy them. Able to grasp at straws until they find the most scientific explanation. The truth is, Harry, that stars are giant masses of magic. Each star is powerful, and each star has its own traits. But there are a few stars far more powerful than the others. Six to be precise. The Star of Rebirth, the Star of the King, the Star of Eternia, the Star of Hell, the Star of the Assassin… and the Star of Death. And you, Harry, were born under one of those stars." "Which one?" "I can't tell you. I know, of course, but for you to come to know, you must find out for yourself. That is the second part of what we will be doing here. Training you to understand your Star. And to utilize the power you receive from it to defeat evil." "Voldemort?" "Oh, Harry… there are far greater evils than Tom. And they are coming. Making their way to your world. Mankind will face an enemy greater than anything they have ever seen. And you, all of you, will have to be ready." "I understand. What will I do first?" Dumbledore walked toward him and rose his hand. A strange rune was carved into it. "You must search your own soul to find the answer. And only there will you be able to grasp the power you will need." Harry nodded. "I'm ready, Headmaster." Dumbledore chuckled and planed the rune on Harry's forehead. Then everything, once again, went black.


	2. The Passing of Eternity

"Huh?"

Harry sat up quickly, being surrounded by a pool of darkness that seemed to unceasingly fluctuate and move. He had a massive headache. He touched a hand to his face and felt something rough. His lower face was covered in scraggly hairs. Facial hair? What is this? He ran a hand through his hair, noticing it was longer, almost to his shoulders. He looked down at his body. His clothes looked a tiny bit too small for him, length-wise. "The Hell is all this?" Harry forced himself to his feet. Christ, his legs were wobbly. After spending a few minutes to get his bearings, he tried talking a few tentative steps. With his third step he fell on his face. "Dammit!" He forced himself back up, his arms just as weak as his legs. He took a few breaths and continued to walk, his legs slowly beginning to follow his commands. That's when he heard something shift in the darkness. A man dressed in a deep black traveler's cloak emerged from the shadows. The ends were frayed and torn, but the top seemed pristine and new. The old torn edges seemed to blend, becoming newer and more well-kept until they reached the top. Harry frowned. His entire face was hidden, cast behind a dark veil of shadows. Only twin deep purple eyes peered back at the young wizard.

"Ah. So my newest Son is awake. You've awoken much faster than most others do."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you were born under my Star. You are one of my many Children, though all but you have long since perished. But that is neither here nor there."

"You said I woke up faster than the others… How long did they sleep? And how long was I out?"

"Hmm… well, before you, the swiftest was Anais. It took her thirty years. As for you, it took just the one."

"I've been asleep… for one whole year?"

"Aye. Give or take a few days."

Harry began to panic, but then remembered what Dumbledore had said. Time doesn't pass here. He looked to the man. "So… I was born under your star, then? Who are you?" "That you must learn on your own. But before I can tell you, you must prove yourself worthy. Unarmed combat. Meaning no magic, wizard." Before Harry could protest, he disappeared. Three men appeared around him, dressed in loose-fitting clothes. They looked old… ancient, really. And they wore masks, painted black without eye slits. Harry rose his fists, standing in a stance that screamed a lack of training. Without warning two of the men rushed him, the third hanging back. Harry swung wildly, his strikes either being ducked under or blocked. A solid kick struck his stomach and he doubled over and wrapped his arms around his stomach in pain. As he did so, the third man drew a dagger from his clothes. He spun Harry around and buried the blade into Harry's stomach. Pain exploded in his body as he fell over. How? How could it be over? He survived the Killing Curse just to… to…

"You died."

Harry looked up to see the man in the cloak. "Come on then, get up. Again!" Before he could even take another breath, the pain was gone and the men were once again surrounding him. Harry blinked a few times and got up to his feet. He understood now. "So… It's fight or die. And then even after I die, fight some more. Well, Prof-… Albus never said this would be easy." Harry rose his fists. This time one man shot forward. He took a step back as the man approached and avoided his fists. He envisioned them as bludgers, and he had experience dodging those. It was hard at first, but soon Harry found himself on a roll. Duck. Dodge. Lean. Then he saw it. Opening. His fist rocketed out and caught the man in the face with a powerful jab. The man took the hit and rolled with it, using Harry's sudden surprise at landing a hit to catch him off his guard. A blade emerged from his sleeve and slit Harry's throat.

Once again he found himself dead.

"Again."

Harry rose again, the three men encircling him. He couldn't even take on the one, how was he supposed to beat all three? He clenched his fists tightly, ready as they approached once again.

"Rahh!"

Harry landed a fierce splits kick on a man's chest, sending him to the ground. He caught a clothesline in his hands and sent the owner of the arm skyward. He used the third man's head as a stepping stone, flying up to the man in the air and grabbing him by his face. He gave a powerful heave and sent him rocketing to the ground. Below him stood a large mass of enemies. Whenever he had defeated the group of men, his Star Father, as he had taken to calling the hooded figure, added another. He was now up to sixty-one. He had lost count of the years that had passed. He had stopped keeping track of time after he was killed for the fourth consecutive time. He was now taller, standing at six feet, three inches. His hair was long, down to his waist. His clothes, magically, had expanded as he grew, however they weren't washed or fixed. They were bloody, torn, they showed the years he had been fighting.

He landed in the midst of the enemy warriors, who all stopped attacking and stood, as still as statues. Harry stayed in his fighting stance. It was amateur, but skilled and deadly. Self-taught, but as lethal as any traditional fighting style, if not more so. He combine street fighting with his quick speed and reflexes from his Quidditch days, and evolved the style as needed to suit his needs. Now he was a finely-tuned powerhouse. His body was lean and fit, his muscles toned and well-defined. He lowered his fists as they refused to move anymore. They all disappeared in bursts of flames. The man reappeared. "How long did I fight them for?" His voice, while the same, was now more quiet and smooth. It had a dark, mature edge. "Another year." "Just one?" "Yes. Happy nineteenth birthday." Harry gave a slight smirk. "Thanks, I guess. So why did you have them stop?" "Beating up on them has gotten far too easy for you. It's time for the next part of training." Harry stood for a second and looked up at him. "No need for that. I figured it out a while ago. You, Star Father… are Death. I know your power, so how about we skip to the part where you teach me to use it." All was silent, but finally the cloaked man chuckled. "Quite right. I am Death. You wish to utilize my power as your own?" He rose his hand and a huge, demonic scythe appeared. It had an ebony shaft, which had slightly yellowed and cracked bones decorating it. The blade was three feet wide, and six feet long. The weapon itself seemed to be around nine to ten feet long. A deep purple aura radiated from the weapon. "Defeat me in combat. Feeling the terror and pain of Death is the only way to understand and wield it." Harry rose his fists. "Well. Come on, then."

* * *

Forgot to do an Author's Note last time. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next we're going to visit the living in their struggle against Voldemort. All reviews are loved, thank you so much for reading.


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